


Quick His Heartbeats

by l_e_crivainsolitaire



Series: In Symbols, His Words [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxious Lavellan, Fluff, Lamenting Lavellan is so needy, M/M, Oh he is weepy, Ry'del Lavellan, but i try, i don't know how to write fluff, omg do i try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7803439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_e_crivainsolitaire/pseuds/l_e_crivainsolitaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Ry'del Lavellan is so small compared to Dorian. He compares himself to the mage again and again and is so baffled Dorian could love him the way he does. Lavellan laments over his faults. What if Dorian knows how pathetic the Inquisitor is? Would that love be the same?</p><p>Day to day experiences the Inquisition goes through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quick His Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a writer of romance.

“Dorian,” I whisper, peppering kisses on his naked chest. I love it so much. “Dorian,” I draw out his name, slow and wanting. I burn underneath with embarassment to hear the neediness in my voice. The mage finally opens his eyes, blinking lazily with small smiles. He dips down and kisses my forehead, then buries his face in my hair.

“Yes, _amatus_ ,” Dorian’s voice is sleepy, arms wrapping around so tightly. “Why are you still awake? Disrupting my sleep, more importantly.” He jests, of course, as usual.

Heartbeats are caught in my throat, and I know my voice will be small now. And vulnerable. I’m ready to run away, not use to this genuine affection. Of course, I don’t, I nestle myself closer, pressing hands on his skin, chasing the feel of him on me. Suddenly, I am trembling and I fervently wish Dorian doesn’t notice.

But he does—always. He notices the hesitation and the weariness, because he speaks. Softly, gently, “what’s wrong?” Dorian pulls me closer still. I don’t think we’ve ever been so close. He levels himself with me, my eyes on his, his on mine, and it is searching for that weariness he felt earlier. “What’s wrong?” His voice is clearer, stronger, demanding.

I am already small, and I become smaller still in Dorian’s arms. The vulnerability and trust traps me, I say it, “Dorian,” I lead with his name—it brings me comfort, “I’m frightened.”

The panic in Dorian’s eyes was enough to have me regret. “Why?” Dorian says, voice steady. His hands ran up down my arms, neck, chest. He settles on the marked hand, massaging it—looking for pain. When satisfied, Dorian presses his forehead to mine, closing his eyes, and it is.. _.intimate_. I am never sure of intimacy, but Dorian draws it out of me. There is a warmness in him that I can’t help but gravitate towards. I like how assured Dorian’s touches are. It makes me feel more. It’s still strange, how someone so beautiful, charming, charismatic, intelligent, wonderful, and witty could fall for someone like _me_.

The young Orlesian soldier’s reaction back in Emprise du Lion put into perspective the difference between Dorian and I.

“But he’s so small,” the soldier had said. They thought I hadn’t been listening. I had busied myself with a felandaris plant, trying to ward off the warm on my face. It was—is embarrassing. Dorian is muscle, hard, and tall. A beautifully crafted being, curves and edges in the right places, hair stunning when in place, hair stunning when not in place, and— _damn_ beautiful words, because I regrettably only know so few, or else I’d write a song—eyes like moons, piercing and searching and beautiful. Beautiful. Even his name is pretty, _Dorian_. And what Dorian does with those things, it…it takes my breath away. But if this is how it feels to be loved so much, then let me be breathless.

Then there was _me_ , the “Inquisitor,” a title given in desperate times. _Extremely_ desperate times. How could they ever think I could do it, just because of a mark? Why not find a better elf? With a clearer head? Next to Dorian—to anyone really, I was pale, lanky, with a scared face—from small accidents and stupid mistakes. When asked, I always weave an exciting false tale, and they call me brave. I feel good from it, then a nausea pools in my stomach. I am a bad elf. I am not brave. If anything one would notice from my vallaslin, barely visible. I begged Keeper Deshanna to not prick the blood writing in so deeply, because it hurt so much. I cried for hours after. At the conclave, I was going to abandon my mission and run away. I was going to leave Lavellan behind.

I am a bad elf and I am not brave.

“Why are you frightened, _amatus_ ,” Dorian’s words snap me back. _Words_. Dorian knew so many, so many ways to say “I love you,” and “I care,” and “You’re too much,” and “Calm down.” _Dorian’s words_. His words that pulled me in so effortlessly, wrapping me in warmth and love and it is everything. “Take your time.”

 _He reads me too well_. I think, avoiding his gaze. “I just am.” I couldn’t say it. I wouldn’t say it. Dorian pulls me closer and kisses me. Deep and warm—blast it!—warm. Warm. Warm. Warm. Kisses go to my neck, so I speak.

“I’m frightened I'll—” I stop myself. What if the thought has never crossed his mind and now I’m putting it out there? Dorian presses his hand on my lower back, encouraging. “I’m frightened I’ll run out of luck and you’ll realize you are much better than… _this_.” I finished lamely, pushing away. The scars on my face burn, I have so many. I dare not look at his face. It will make me weaker than I already am. And more selfish that I dare to be.

Dorian pulls me back to him, kisses tracing scars. Lips on my neck and chest, and _Maker_. I taste rust and my lips are bruised and dry, every kiss stings. And I chase the pain. His hands press on my hips, trailing his kisses and licks to my stomach. “How could I find anything better than this?” Dorian breathes.

I call him back to me, “I’m serious, Dorian,” I try to steady my voice, but his lips are on my hips, cheek so close to my—his eyes are teasing. I look away, embarrassed.

“So am I.” Dorian sighs, crawling back to my side to kiss my face all over. “I’m trying to kiss all your fears away, is it working? Or does it need a bit more goading?” Warm hand on my groin.

I give him a small laugh, still anxious. He settles his hand around my waist. “Maybe,” I hide my face in his chest. “Don’t leave me, please.” I murmur into his skin. I’m not being fair.

“Oh,  _amatus_ ,” Dorian forces me to look at him, those moon colored eyes looking and looking. “I will stay with you are long as you will have me. Believe me.”

“Dorian, I’m a bad elf,” I start.

He blinks at me, confusion knits between his eyebrows. “In a naughty sense? Are you going to start dancing with scarves?”

I laugh now, full and happy. I playfully push away, “I’m just saying, I’m not what an Inquisitor should be.” 

“I’m not what a Tevinter should be.” He nuzzles in the crook of my neck. “It seems like we’re perfect for each other.” The way he puts a kiss on my chin takes me. I’m not ready to tell him the reasons for my fears. It’s not fair, but my heart is selfish. 

“ _A_ _matus_ , if you find your luck has ran out, it would mean mine has too.” His voice is quieter now, his breath slow and steady. “When you’re ready to talk, I’m all ears.”

I say nothing after, I put my head to his chest, quick his heartbeats went. I realize I frightened him with the little words I know. I feel the familiar pool of nausea in my stomach. I think hard, _I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. Please know I love you._ I press more kisses to his skin. The heat from his body eases the nausea away and with that, I drift back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I try to write stories that has more emotion... but I like writing perspective. But I'm...new but old all at the same time. New because I'm trying to write differently than I used to. Old because I've been writing forever, and yet, I can't find a style that suits me. 
> 
> Though, I appreciate writing dialogue. Thank you for reading.
> 
> UPDATE: 8/19/2016
> 
> Sorry, still getting used to the website. I've corrected a few things. Nothing big.


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